


pride, predjudice & champagne.

by thychesters



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (Comic), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: F/M, based on fanart, choo choo, full speed ahead, listen kids they're here to flirt and make fun of one another and talk about jane austen, nightwing and oracle deserve a night off ok, no party like a wayne party you can slip out of unnoticed, we're covering all our bases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thychesters/pseuds/thychesters
Summary: A quiet moment of escape during a Wayne gala. Dick and Barbara discuss the merits of classical literature and spanakopita.based on fanart by deadhermiteyes.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	pride, predjudice & champagne.

**Author's Note:**

> i really just wanted an excuse for dick and barbara to needle one another, but i hardly ever need an excuse for that
> 
> catch u guys on [tumblr](https://thychesters.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/thychesters) where i don't shut about them, or shut up in general. woohoo!

“Do you think if Cass downed like... four of these, someone would notice?” Steph asks, and Barbara breaks eye contact with Dick from across the room to turn and find Steph giving her champagne flute a good stare down. Barbara’s own sits posed between her fingers, barely touched, and Cass gives hers a thoughtful look before shrugging and turning her attention elsewhere, a smile gracing the corner of her mouth. 

They’ve already been here too long, she thinks, and they’ve only been here two hours. Which is two hours too long, Dick would say, if he weren’t currently rubbing elbows and entertaining small talk with his current gaggle of sycophants. The glare he’d shot in Bruce’s direction had not gone unnoticed, though he’d quickly dialed up the charm, and Barbara can catch perhaps every other word from where she is across the room, reading his lips over shoulders from where guests sit and around elbows.

The event is fairly tame in comparison to the last few events they’ve held: only one glass has shattered and Alfred had to break up just a minor scuffle amongst the catering crew in the early hours. Dick indulges Gotham’s one-percenters in conversation, and for every one step he takes their way he’s met with three more people who want to make conversation. All of this for a plate of hors d’oeuvres he’d promised her, and she can make out some small spanakopita balanced precariously as he attempts to side-step people and is thwarted every step of the way.

Barbara sighs, gaze wandering the room as Steph and Cass sit with their heads bent together, snickering between themselves at a joke she doesn’t pay much heed to. Try as she might, she cannot help but think of everything they could be doing outside of this—the money laundering Cobblepot’s gotten his hands into, the uptick in burglaries on the west side with the warmer weather approaching. She pushes away from the table.

“I’m going to get some air,” she says, to which Cass offers a soft hum and Steph nods in acknowledgment. She casts a glance back over her shoulder to find Dick lost in the crowd, and carefully makes her way through those on the outskirts to duck out a pair of French doors to one of the patios.

It’s quieter out on the veranda, away from the din of forced conversation and fake pleasantries and the occasional well-meaning story, where the music travels from the open windows. From her vantage point she can see the sprawling expanse of the gardens and can almost pretend the city doesn’t exist, as far removed from it as she feels.

Barbara welcomes the solitude, and a small smile plays at her lips as her arm comes to rest against the stone railing, her glass beside it. A quiet scene plays out before her: a few moths darting around the light fixtures dotting the path, a few stray fireflies she hasn’t seen in months flickering in and out of view. She’ll return to the party soon enough, she decides, though this is a nice reprieve and gives her time and space to think.

She trails her fingers along the grains in the stone and watches the stars.

“I didn’t realize the real party was out here,” a voice calls out to her, and she turns to find Dick beaming back at her, two flutes in one hand and a mix of spanakopita and an array of cheese in the other. “Sorry I’m a little late; think my invite got lost in the mail.”

“Took you long enough,” she says, though she smiles and leans into his embrace as he leans to press a kiss to her temple. After handing her her plate of hors d’oeuvres—finally, at long last—he makes quick work of stripping his suit coat, leaving it folded on the railing in a manner Alfred would approve of. He scoffs at her and she watches with thinly veiled interest as he tosses a leg over the bench and settles himself to face her.

“Hey, had to go appease the masses,” he says, eying the flute she came out with next to the ones he’d brought with him. “Looks like someone’s ready to have a wild night. Should I spread word to Vale or Clark to be on the look out?”

“Har har,” she gets out through her teeth, around a bit of spinach and filo dough. Barbara watches him take a drink and gaze out over the gardens, the same she’d been admiring before he joined her, and the very same they spent a good many nights wandering as children. The grounds know their stride, her palms the feel of bark as she climbed them during games of pirates or exploration and hours spent finding just the right nook to read in. She can see a small play at his features and wonders if he’s thinking of the same.

“I felt like Bruce was trying to marry me off in there,” Dick says and she smirks into her glass.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I think I had a real Mr. Bingley moment in there.” He passes his flute to his other hand, now free one settling between them. One of his shoulders raises in a shrug. “The woman I was hoping to talk to left the party and I wanted to catch her before she left. Guess that’s more of a Darcy thing though, isn’t it?”

Barbara takes a sip, and offers a shrug of her own. “Oh, I don’t know, between you and me I always kind of like Bingley a little more.” She gives him a look out of the corner of her eye to find him loosening his tie enough to slip it over his head to be left with his jacket. “Unfortunately I think this means no dramatic declaration in the rain for us, though.”

“The sprinklers go on at one.”

Her teeth almost catch on her glass. “Oh right, because if you didn’t want to make the papers before you’re sure to then.”

“Of course. Bruce told us all to mingle and place nice; no one else is doing anything of value so I’m picking up the slack. Our torrid love affair is sure to keep them talking.”

“I like how you more or less just implied the rest of your siblings were useless,” she says, snagging a cracker. Dick gestures somewhere in the gardens with the bruschetta he snagged. “And I didn’t realize our relationship was so torrid now. I really should be paying more attention to it.”

“I didn't _say_ they were, you just did—thanks for the heads up that apparently you haven’t been paying attention to our relationship, by the way. Now it feels very one-sided.” Barbara snickers and turns her attention to finishing the last of her champagne. “Oh, now we’ve really got that Bennet-Bingley dynamic going.” She watches him pull a face, brow puckering as he toys with his glass. “Bingley was the guy who wasn’t a dick, right? With the sister? And it was his sister who broke up Bingley and the one sister?”

“That’s a lot of sisters.”

“Well, yeah, weren’t there like six of them? But the one guy’s sister tried to break up the two of them.” 

“Can you name them all?”

Dick glowers at her, huffing before taking another sip of his glass. “This started as a joke that turned into an English lesson, great. Glad I’ve found your niche humor.”

Barbara laughs, swatting his hand away when he reaches over to poke at her. It’s always comfortable falling into their easy camaraderie, the jabs with no heat and the familiarity of it all. There’s still that sense of nostalgia they’d contended with last time, a battle of wills and butting heads until they’d found that middle ground. She twirls her glass in her hand.

Dick turns just so to cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. “Speaking of sisters... I still can’t believe that time you had Cass throw me out a window after we broke up.”

She snickers and shakes her head; there’s still mirth in his eyes.

“You and I both know no one makes Cass do anything. Besides, it wasn’t like you fell _that_ far.” Barbara swaps her empty glass for the full one on the railing and then reaches for his. He watches her split the champagne between the two of them as she says: “I also had to establish dominance and who was the favorite in the event we had to split custody.”

Dick laughs, abrupt and loud and almost enough to draw attention to themselves had they been closer to the ballroom. She makes no effort to hide her amusement while he smiles at her, and she sets aside her glass and plate of food as he moves closer to her. She goes to meet him halfway, working her way across the stone, chair left by the railing and dress trailing along the veranda as she works her way into the warm expanse of his side, tucked under his arm as it trails over her own. His fingers dance along her side until they find hers, callouses smoothing over the back of her palm. Music still wafts through the windows behind them, a gentle melody she’s always found herself drawn to, always sought out during these events. Barbara leans back into his embrace, back into his chest as he holds her to him and hooks his chin over her shoulder.

They should go back soon, she knows this, before someone comes looking for them and the rumor mill starts, but they have time for this, she thinks.

Dick is warm against her, solid and welcome, and she tilts her head at the cheek pressed against her temple, then her own. The arm at her other side shifts, and she flicks his knuckle as he moves to intertwine their fingers. For a good moment they’re quiet, his fingers tapping against the back of her hand and he holds her and she lets herself be held to the tune of the gala and the occasional firefly to contrast with the stars above them.

“We used to leave the galas and come here all the time when we were kids, Dick,” she says, voice soft so as to not disrupt the stillness of the moment, the privacy and vulnerability of it. Barbara can feel his hum before she hears it, and then Dick’s ducking his head into the side of her neck to press a kiss to the exposed skin there. She squirms against him with a soft sound from the back of her throat, and he grins against her neck before pulling away. “They’re gonna find us!”

“What are they gonna do, kick us out?” he says as she tilts her head back to look at him, smiling at her all the while. Barbara huffs and noses at his jaw to nudge him back, and she gives him a quick peck as she does. She can feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, exposed skin warmed by the material, and his breath trailing through the hair she’d pulled out of its loose braid not even an hour into the party. “I like this dress on you.”

His thumb smooths along the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, and she leans back in as he presses a kiss to her temple.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, breath gathering at the shell of her ear, and she catches herself about to nod before she pauses. The music continues, reaching its crescendo inside, and the atmosphere around them is perfect for it: they’re close enough to still feel like part of the party, yet tucked away enough to have their own privacy. There’s music and stars and champagne where a glass alone cost more than her weekly salary working at the library could have ever dreamed of.

It’s perfect, and Barbara only wants it to last longer, for them to enjoy it for as long as they can.

“In a minute,” she says, tilting her head back against his shoulder. “I’d like to sit with you for another minute, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he returns almost instantaneously, and if anything his arm almost tightens around her. He sways just so, rocking gently to a rhythm of his own, and she entangles their fingers as she gives his a squeeze. His nose presses against her temple as her head tilts and she watches the stars, his gaze following hers.

Inside, the band picks up another tune, another melody she’s familiar with, one they’ve danced around the manor in socked feet before, one they’ve twirled around her apartment to, and the one that plays as Dick, not in words, but in actions, tells her he loves her.

“They’re going to find us,” he says, and she can feel the smile in his voice against her ear.

“Let them,” she says. He huffs a laugh as she frees a hand and reaches for her champagne, her next sip tart and crisp, and she smiles into it as he makes to inconspicuously reach around her for the array of hors d’oeuvres. He’s warm and comfortable against her, and she closes her eyes to the music behind them and solid weight of his arm around her waist.


End file.
